Duncan Graham
Unlike most places in Indonesia, in Cisarua greetings are rare and locals are wary of strangers. The Bogor hill town is no longer a cool climate retreat for Jakartans fleeing the city’s heat, but an open detention centre for foreigners seeking asylum. In decaying overcrowded flats the reluctant residents have a persistent question: Will I die here in exile or go mad first?
Journalist Abdul Samad Haidari was trapped in this limbo for almost a decade. Like most of those who are stuck in Cisarua, he is a refugee from Afghanistan where the Taliban has been ruthlessly persecuting the Hazara ethnic minority and oppressing writers with dissident voices.
Abdul fled his homeland when he was seven years old and wandered Pakistan and Iran. In 2014 he arrived in Indonesia with the aid of people smugglers promising eventual settlement in Australia, even while knowing that this route was no longer an option. In 2016, then Immigration Affairs Minister Peter Dutton declared that anyone who tried to arrive by boat ‘would never set foot in Australia’. That included the internationally famous Kurdish-Iranian writer and filmmaker Behrouz Boochani, who lived in an offshore detention camp in Papua New Guinea for six years.
In 2023, Abdul joined Behrouz in New Zealand, which has shown compassion by taking 150 refugees a year. Abdul says of his new home, ‘glad landscapes speak with God and the reviving fragrance of oceans clears the lungs.’
His second book The Unsent Condolences was published in Australia by Palaver in December 2023. Behrouz writes in the foreword:
‘Each and every poem builds the unconquered fortress within the human who has endured the atrocities of evil. (Abdul’s) erudite vision reverberates our hearts, harmonises our minds, ignites our humanity to stand up and take action. In our history, there are only a few poems that have inspired marches against injustice, here we have an entire collection.’
Unable to practice journalism in Cisarua, Abdul turned to poetry. His first collection The Red Ribbon published in 2019, was promoted as a search for ‘peace and hope in a country that has offered him a sanctuary of human love – Indonesia.’
That’s generous. The Republic is not a signatory to the 1951 UN Refugee Convention, which means the stateless cannot work, get health care or more than basic education; only temporary sanctuary. Abdul was unable to sign a contract with a publisher for his book, which went on to become a best-seller.
Today in Indonesia there are more than 12,000 refugees and asylum seekers from 50 countries – mainly from Afghanistan. They receive some small support from the UN High Commission for Refugees.
Abdul told an interviewer in New Zealand that The Unsent Condolences was: ‘a form of resistance against the confiscation of our lands, culture, religious beliefs, language, and history … these poems bear witness to the bitter affliction of persecution, colonisation, discrimination, and dehumanisation faced by the Hazara people.’
His memories are raw. He writes about his birthplace, Dahmardah, ‘where the glorious orchards were full of vibrant dreams, the magnificent mountains stood tall as God’s height, and the rivers flew like veins, singing in rhymes as though God and nature were in an eternal dialogue about life.’
Then roaring down the road comes reality:
‘Hilux vehicles sprouting white flags — two at the front; two held at the back.
Machine guns and loudspeakers up on rooftops, shouting Taliban Zindabad. Long live the Taliban.
They march in the village; some head down to madrasa (an Islamic school) and some to Khanju (an area in Dahmardah) searching house to house, Kalashnikovs, their necklace of carnage; rockets rank their shanks.
They hunt down adults, forcing them to submit, elders are ejected — ‘a waste of space’. Women are silenced, shut off, guns on their heads;
Sharia Law is enforced to carry out the slow grindings. Mothers hush children to fall asleep with Taliban’s myth. I will call the Taliban if you don’t go to sleep.’
In testimony included in the book, the Australian philosopher Professor Raimond Gaita, writes of Abdul’s work:
‘As Australians, we should know that our governments have shamed us with their ruthlessly devised and enforced policy against refugees fleeing their homes by land and sea. Had we understood what Abdul tries to make us understand no government would have dared implement those policies.’
The Unsent Condolences is dedicated to his family and supporters, who, like former New Zealand Ambassador to ASEAN, Pam Dunn, were so impressed by his talent: ‘You helped me overcome the feelings of darkness during the last five years. You have been the light guiding me to find the direction to home where my soul found comfort.’
His passion probably won’t move the views of those who mix Islamic refugees with terrorism, job losses and high rents. For the rest, here are insights, language to inspire, and wisdom that transcends politics and lines on maps:
‘I am but a journalist, the lord of my own words, giving volumes to moral and righteous voices which carry the truthful hymns of the voiceless. I am engaged, remain curious, firm and utterly prepared.
‘Because I am more than a refugee.’
Abdul Samad Haidari, The Unsent Condolences, Palaver, 2023.
Duncan Graham (wordstars@hotmail.com) is an Australian journalist living in East Java.
